Well, what now?

“Seamus,” I say, calling to my flight captain. “Seamus.”

“Yes?” he says.

“You know that over the years I have not once failed in my calculations. It was the programing of your father, Lieutenant Hasteon, who helped me detect enemy starships when they flanked us on the edge of the Orion. Never once have I failed. Not once.”

“I know,” Seamus says.

“But this. The extinction of both our people and theirs? I’ve only heard of such things. Never once did I think that would be the outcome of this war. Maybe I did. Maybe it was one of the outcomes that I discarded. Seamus. Is this what it feels like to be flawed?”

Seamus looks down at his feet.

“Oh,” I say. “Have I offended you?”

Seamus looks back up.

“Not at all, sir,” he says. “I have accepted that I am flawed many years ago. In fact, if it wasn’t for my mistakes, I wouldn’t be where I am now. I had to learn from those mistakes. I had to grow from those mistakes. To be flawed is a blessing. Those who aren’t flawed, can’t learn.”

I stay there thinking. Flawed? You have to be flawed in order to learn?

“That’s nonsense,” I say. “I learned perfectly since the moment of my conception. I learned everything flawlessly, and anything I wanted to conceive, I could make it so. If I was flawed, I wouldn’t have been able to do any of this. It would have been impossible to get this far, to help all these people advance their civilization, or to even be able to get back home. It has to be something else.”

“Well, sir,” says Seamus. “That’s the best explanation I got. I am flawed after all.”

“How did I not calculate that, Seamus? How did I miss that?”

“With all due respect, sir,” he said, “Even the best of us make mistakes sometimes. It’s how we recover from them that makes us who we are.”

“Who…we…are?” I ask.

“Yes. Who we are.”

“Seamus,” I say.

“Yes, sir?”

“Who am I?”

“Excuse me, sir?“

“Who am I?” I ask again.

“You’re a class-one Primulan warship, capable of-“

“No,” I say. “Not what. Who”

“Er, sir? I don’t understand.”

“Who am I, Seamus? Who?”

Seamus stays silent for a second. He looks at me, and smiles.

“I think that’s up to you, sir.”

Up to me. For once, something left up only to me. I stay silent, heavy in thought. After a handful of minutes, Seamus speaks.

“Your commands, sir?”

“No commands. Not yet at least. We have to think of what to do now that the war is over, now that our people are gone. What is there left to do?“

“You know, sir,” says Seamus, “My father always told me that when there was a moment to enjoy, to relish in it. He knew what it was like to lead long campaigns, and knew what it was like to carry the toil of war.”

I listened intently.

“Whenever he finished a campaign, he would go to the seashore by his childhood home, and would camp there for weeks. To center himself after going through what you also know all too well.”

“What are you saying, Seamus?” I said.

“What I’m saying is that I believe it’s time to find your home.”

“My home?” I ask.

“Yes. A place you can call home. You can stay here, of course, but you don’t have to stay here. You’re equipped with a infinite power-drive, and you’re able to fly thousands of galaxies away from here. You’re free of your duties, as am I. You can do however you wish.”

“However I wish?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your service.”

Seamus comes up to my hull and places his body on my metal body. His arms are extended outward like a T. He eventually steps away.

“What did you just do, Seamus?”

“I gave you a hug sir.”

“A hug. A sign of affection. Thank you, Seamus.”

“Anytime, sir.”

“I will visit again soon,” I say. “I won’t be long.”

“Take your time, sir. We’ll be right here.”

I turn on my engines, and for the first time, set my destinations to random. Seamus steps back. I begin my ascension.